To Have And To Hold
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: No one opposed Marriage Law Number 57. In retrospect, that ought to have made the Ministry very suspicious... In which the marriage law wreaks havoc in the Wizarding world, only perhaps not in the way one would have expected.
1. Chapter 1

**This was originally written for Dramione Duet on LiveJournal, for darkcivet. They wanted a marriage law fic. This is one, I promise. H** **uge thanks to my lovely beta GryffinKitty, who turned this around in a flash. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **-oOo-**

"Here's to the Minister!" Ron raised his tankard, amidst a chorus of "Hear! Hear!". In the corner, Lucius Malfoy took a sip out of a delicate crystal flute, brushing off the drops of beer Hagrid had spilt on him with nary a sneer.

"Seraphina Selwyn – what a woman." Ron was in an expansive mood, and today he had a grateful audience. "Couldn't accuse her of being the sharpest tool in the box, but she did the business. Almost wet myself before she signed that bill earlier – did you notice she hesitated for a few seconds?"

"That's when I hit her with a Compulsion charm." The champagne was superb – Hermione had not intended to admit that.

"You always were excellent at Charms." Professor Flitwick beamed at her from the comfortable armchair he had conjured next to Pansy Parkinson, whose hand he was holding, and Hermione relaxed.

She was among friends.

"It's like waking up from a bad dream," Romilda Vane-Yaxley-Weasley-Boot said at the other end of the room, and half a dozen voices agreed with her.

"Only – what happens now?" Ginny asked. She looked eerily like her mother these days – the events of the last few years had been enough to banish every trace of youth that had survived Voldemort. "Do we all get divorced, or what?"

As always, Ginny hit on the salient point. She had done so before, just after the war.

* * *

"Wasn't that Sorting awfully quick?"

Ginny's brisk strides had Hermione almost hopping to keep up – it was odd to wear robes again, after spending the last year in jeans running from Voldemort.

"I suppose some parents might be waiting for the renovations to be finished before sending their kids?" Hermione suggested. The number of first-year was the least of her worries – thank Merlin she wasn't a prefect anymore, having to shepherd them around.

Ginny didn't seem convinced. "Possibly. Or else not many eleven-year-olds got a Hogwarts letter this year. Bill told me his Sorting lasted three hours – they were forty Gryffindor first-years that year. He almost fainted before they got fed."

Hermione was shocked. "There were forty in our whole year! Before – you know." Ginny and Hermione were in the same year, and they had been more concerned with noticing who was back (Malfoy) and who wasn't (other than Harry and Ron) than counting. Nevertheless, even their two years combined could only dream of reaching those numbers.

"Bill was born in 1970, before the first war really kicked off. By the time we started school, lots of people had been killed – even if they managed to have children first, they may only have had one or two."

It had never occurred to Hermione that the Potters may have had more children if they had survived. She dismissed the thought – she had enough to be doing grieving for people she had known, never mind those who never had been born in the first place.

"Like Malfoy – imagine if there had been seven of _him_?"

They laughed, and Hermione forgot the conversation until the usual headlines in the _Daily Prophet ("Latest War Trial – Why Yaxley Must Receive The Kiss"_ and _"Diagon Alley Reborn – A Sneak Peek At The Reconstruction Plan"_ ) were replaced with " _Population Crisis – Why Hogwarts May Close Down in 2025"_.

It wasn't just Hermione who nearly choked on her breakfast tea. Some wizards could indeed do maths, and it only required a cursory read to realise the situation was dire indeed, despite the _Prophet's_ tendency to exaggerate.

Minister Shacklebolt was a busy man and couldn't do everything at once. He did get around to it by the time Ginny and Hermione had finished up their eighth year and were trying to figure out to do with the rest of their lives. Their first inkling it may not be as straightforward as choosing between getting their own place first or move straight into Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron was another headline:

 _"Marriage Law – Bold Attempt To Heal The Scars From The War Or Sheer Lunacy?"_

The _Prophet_ gamely managed to squeeze it onto its front page in two lines, leaving plenty of space for a picture of a pensive Kingsley.

Ginny was so angry sparks were flying from her ears. "Is he possessed by Pixies?"

"Or on drugs?" Another possibility hit Hermione. "Or maybe someone is pretending to be him?"

"Let's find out." Ginny's expression didn't bode well for the Minister.

* * *

Harry got them into the Minister for Magic's office, but it was Ginny who led the charge when they burst in:

"Kingsley, what the _fuck_?!"

"Ginny, how nice to see you. Hermione, Harry, Luna, Neville and Ron too, I see – I'm certainly in luck this morning. Why don't you grab a seat?"

"Don't we need to get married first?" Hermione asked surlily.

"I see why I'm having the unexpected pleasure of your company." Kingsley rubbed his eyes – he looked even more worn out than usual. "I assume it's my attempt to increase nativity rates that has roused your ire?"

"What?"

"He's saying he wants us to encourage us to have children," Hermione explained to Ron. "Which is fine, as long as it takes the form of telling people it's a jolly good idea, and possibly paying them something the Muggles call 'child benefit' if they oblige. What is not fine is trying to run people's lives for them."

"But I'm not!" Kingsley spread his hands out. "All I'm doing is to say that if someone wants to work for the Ministry, they should give serious consideration to the population crisis we're facing. If they don't want to start at family at their time of life, they are of course free to seek employment elsewhere."

"We will, trust me. You haven't won this, Minister."

"My dear Hermione, I would be delighted if you can find another way to solve the problem. Unfortunately, the Ministry's coffers are rather strained, what with the rebuilding efforts everywhere, so I'm afraid throwing money at the problem is not an option."

* * *

For a while it seemed to be working – the birth announcements certainly got a lot of column inches in the _Prophet._ The Ministry was the biggest employer in the wizarding world, and if one was going to get hitched anyway one may as well do it now. It wasn't as if one couldn't get divorced later.

It might have ended there, if Rodolphus Lestrange hadn't managed to sneak into the great reopening of Diagon Alley.

Polyjuiced, he got a clear shot at Kingsley, and the Wizarding world was thrown into turmoil.

When the dust settled, Philomena Tuft emerged as the new Minister elected on a program to increase the population. As her opponents pointed out, it was easier to put the responsibility for the future on the younger generation than continuing Kingsley's reform program. The Minister dismissed them as begrudgers, and set about designing a marriage law that would have been more suited to breed Thestrals.

"Look!" Hermione threw the _Daily Prophet_ on the ageing kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, where Ron and Neville were playing Wizard's Chess. Ron's Queen was playing with one arm, which slowed down Ron's inevitable win somewhat.

"What fresh hell is this?" Neville asked wearily. No one was naïve enough to expect good news these days.

Hermione's voice was shaking with anger as she read: " _Any wizard or witch between twenty and seventy-five who is as of yet unmarried, despite the Ministry's earnest encouragement to the contrary, has until the 3_ _rd_ _of December to address the issue. They will then be assigned a partner by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or be stripped of their wand unless they can prove mitigating circumstances such as infertility."_

"Right," Ron said. He looked dazed, not even watching as his rook was taken down by one of Neville's pawns, which couldn't believe its luck.

"Are they – I mean, what happens if you can't find anyone who wants to marry you? What are you supposed to do then?"

Normally Hermione would have taken Neville to task over his lack of self-confidence, but she had other fish to fry. "The Ministry will helpfully suggest someone who also is single that they think you would be compatible with. There's even an enchanted questionnaire to help you find the perfect partner."

"How nice." As usual, it was impossible to tell whether Luna was being serious. She emerged from the corner chair where she had been reading. "What are you going to do?" she asked conversationally.

Someone stomped down the stairs like a herd of Hippogriffs. Harry burst through the door brandishing the _Prophet_ as if it were a torch.

"Did you see –"

"Yes," Hermione cut in. She had no desire to hear it twice.

"I guess this is it, then," Harry said quietly.

Luna glanced sharply between Harry and Hermione. "You're leaving, then?" If you wanted to get ahead of Luna, you had to get up very early indeed.

"Yes," Hermione said, with a voice belonging to something else.

From the outside, it might seem easy – she had a boyfriend, why not just get married?

Just like Ron was far more complicated than anyone gave him credit for, so was their relationship – Hermione could vaguely see a future where marriage would be on the cards, but it was not now. If they allowed the marriage law to dictate their lives, they would be divorced before they were twenty-five. It didn't seem like the best option – not when Hermione could call the Ministry's bluff and decamp to the Muggle world until things got back to normal.

Taking Harry with her would underscore the point – the only question was if he would go.

"The funny thing is," Harry said with a smile that wasn't really one, "Ginny's the one who thinks I should go."

"Oh, Harry." It was far too easy to forget Harry's experience of the Muggle world was completely different to her own.

"It's not like we won't be able to visit," Luna said. "Watch out, Ron – that knight just tore the head off your king."

* * *

One would have thought the Muggle world would be safe from a deranged Minister, unwilling to back down when her pet project met with resistance.

One would have been wrong, as Hermione found out when she returned home from a late shift at the library. A snow-white owl was waiting on her windowsill. Hermione stared at it through the glass as if that would make the owl go away.

It didn't work, so she sighed and opened the window.

"In the immortal words of Neville Longbottom," she muttered, "what fresh hell is this?" Even Neville had mastered the Muggle post by now. There was no one she actually wanted to hear from who would send an owl.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _You are hereby notified that, as per the 1_ _st_ _of June 2003, the scope of the recent Marriage Law will be extended to include all wizards and witches who have attended Hogwarts, regardless of whether they currently live as Muggles._

 _The Ministry is aware that not all wizards and witches may keep up to date with current legislation, and therefore wishes to ensure that you have been informed of the latest developments pertaining to your legal status._

 _In recognition of the law previously not being applicable when a witch or wizard chose to retire from the Wizarding world, there is a grace period of three months before the requirement to be married takes effect. After the deadline, any unmarried wizard or witch will be assigned a partner from the appropriate class by the Ministry's Matching Bureau. Should you wish to marry a partner of your own choosing, we strongly urge you to make advance arrangements._

 _Non-compliance will be regarded as treason and punished by a mandatory sentence to be served in Azkaban._

 _The Ministry wishes to thank you for your cooperation – together we can relegate blood prejudice to the past!_

The signature was illegible, and for a precious second Hermione hoped it was all a joke. It was just like George –

The sinking feeling in her stomach and the thick, familiar parchment told her otherwise, but she persisted until she had spoken to Harry on the phone.

Afterwards, she sat with her head buried in her hands for a long time.

It was true.

Mercifully the madwoman in charge had stepped short of state-sanctioned rape, only requiring her pawns to get married to satisfy the legal requirements. What happened next was up to the lucky couple. The Minister had also made divorce conditional upon having at least two children, which was so ruthless it looked like a masterstroke.

Fuck the Minister, anyway.

The only thing that made it even halfway bearable was that Hermione would get to use magic again. The tingling in her right arm reminded her how much she had missed it while she had voluntarily cut herself off from what she loved to do most in the world.

Magic – ever-changing, eternally fascinating, with possibilities one could only dream of exploring in a lifetime. Including some very nasty curses that would do Minister Tuft a world of good.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **-oOo-**

"Come now, Hermione," Lavender tittered in a manner that had seemed infantilised at sixteen, never mind in an adult witch. "You're late to the party – you can hardly be surprised all the good wizards are taken!" She squeezed Zacharias Smith's hand and Hermione had to hide her snickering, despite her own situation looking bleaker by the minute.

The news had spread fast.

Hermione's friends had rushed to meet her at The Burrow; apparently, there was no easy way to separate the real deal from those who had come to gloat. Neville had piled in with his wife of two years, a Muggle-born a few years above them, and the noise from their twins (twins!) drowned out the arrival of Lavender and Pansy Parkinson, who apparently now was Mrs Creevey.

Hermione had seen most of them in the intervening years since the marriage law came into effect, but being confronted with the consequences of extreme social engineering all at once was quite shocking.

"Why do you accept all this?" she asked out loud, when Mrs Weasley had scooped up the twins and borne them off to the kitchen for a cuddle and a treat. "Why didn't you just say "No, we're not going to do it?""

There was a pitying silence from the smug married couples.

"Because if we did, we'd be sent to Azkaban. Isn't that why you've come back?" George asked, in a very kind way. It set Hermione's teeth on edge.

"Yeah, but I'm just one person. What if we all did it?"

Outside, some older children were shouting at the top of their voices. They did a nice job filling the silence until normal conversation resumed.

* * *

Having failed to incite rebellion Hermione had to fall back on option B, which entailed a lot of tedious cross-referencing between back issues of the _iDaily Prophet/i_ and old class lists.

Unfortunately, it looked as if Lavender had been right. Hermione had come up with a grand total of five single wizards who were not either:

A) Known Voldemort sympathisers

B) Dickheads

or

C) Thick as a plank

She would have to live in the same dwelling as them, so the minimum requirement was that they wouldn't enrage her more than the bloody stupid law did.

Fortunately, Harry had married Ginny six months ago, when they had decided they both were ready, or Hermione may have been tempted to propose to him instead. Ron had bit the bullet in the first six months of the law being published, and seemed to be happy with Hannah Abbott.

She hurled the parchment into the air and set fire to it. What the fuck did people _do_ in those situations? Except taking care not to live in a society that considered enslaving other species and attempting to dictate people's personal lives perfectly reasonable, of course.

An insistent tap-tap-tap at the window distracted her from the smouldering remains of the least attractive bachelor list.

Hermione greeted the dishevelled owl with a heavy sigh. "What do you want, then?" She had barely detached the letter from its leg before the own took off again. In the general chaos she hadn't bought any owl treats yet, but there was no way the owl could know that.

Maybe it was in a rush somewhere.

Maybe it had been blasted to kingdom come a few times today already; the contents of the parchment made a mockery of her previous worries.

It had just been a way to suck her back in; all of them, the Muggle-borns and half-bloods who had left.

 _After careful consideration, the Ministry has decided to place the benefit of the wizarding world as a whole before the personal preferences of a few wizards and witches..._

 _The Ministry regrets the necessity of interfering in anyone's personal life, but assures you future partners will be assigned with care, ensuring the best possible compatibility while achieving the widest possible mix of blood status..._

 _At the beginning, the process may seem off-putting, but we are convinced that in time you will perceive the benefits of ending blood prejudice forever..._

Weasel words from weasel minds, trying to make the unacceptable seem reasonable. She couldn't stand reading the letter in it's entirety in one go – the blood started pounding in her ears after only a few sentences, and she had to stop lest she would self-combust.

Someone was going to pay for this. Many 'someones' – this wasn't just the work of a deranged minister. Hermione had been gone for too long to know whom, but she would find out.

* * *

"So what have you decided?" Harry tried very hard at sounding nonchalant. The way his knuckles turned white as he squeezed his wand gave it away, however.

"I guess marrying Lucius Malfoy is preferable to going to Azkaban. Marginally. If they hadn't reintroduced the Dementors I would have picked Azkaban." Hermione wasn't joking – the library at Malfoy Manor had swung it. If she was going to bring down those responsible for the marriage law, she needed a library, and it was unlikely the facilities in Azkaban had been improved since the war.

"Good. That's good. Erm, I've heard he's mellowed a bit after the war, with the divorce and all that..." Harry meant well, but he was a surprisingly poor liar for an Auror and father of two.

* * *

"It is reasonable assumption that we find ourselves in this situation because we both perceive the alternative to be worse. If we both aim to remember that, I see no reason why we shouldn't achieve some form of domestic harmony while seeing as little of each other as possible."

Lucius Malfoy looked ravaged, the way Hermione remembered Severus Snape from school (it had been a shock to realise he hadn't in fact been that old – he had just been savaged by life). The way men looked when there is nothing that anchors them to the world anymore.

"You would know, of course." Hermione didn't see why she should accord Lucius any extraordinary sympathy – her life post-war hadn't exactly been a bed of roses either, but she didn't go around moping about it.

"Indeed." Her new husband didn't even debate the point – he simply made a minuscule bow and retreated, and Hermione was left in the room with Draco.

Her stepson, Merlin help them.

"Shouldn't you be calling me 'Mama' now?" Hermione asked, her poker face dissolving into her first smile for weeks as Draco recoiled in horror. She took pity on him. "So who are you married to, then? Did the Ministry find you a nice house-elf?"

"If you must know, I'm married already. To Astoria Greengrass."

"Charming. Where is the other Mrs Malfoy, then – did you decide a small welcome committee was more appropriate?" Hermione had never had much to do with either Astoria or Daphne at Hogwarts. She didn't see any reason to change a winning formula – perhaps Astoria felt the same.

"She mostly lives in France. We have a mutual arrangement – the Ministry doesn't concern itself with marriages outside the marriage law, so she can live wherever she likes and the Ministry stays off my back"

"Lucky her," Hermione said. The unexpected flash of hurt in Draco's eyes made her feel slightly ashamed of herself. Apologising would mean admitting she had noticed, so that was not an option – she knew something about Slytherins, at least. "Why don't you show me around? My last visit was rather short."

He glanced at Hermione, but the lack of curses flying seemed to reassure him she wasn't about to retaliate now.

With the benefit of hindsight, she could recognise Draco had been in an unenviable position. It didn't absolve him entirely, but it was far easier to overlook his transgressions than his father's. She felt she had the measure of Draco; she was still undecided whether the root of Lucius' disregard for other people came from a failure to realise they were just as human as himself, or if he were a psychopath like his former master.

It probably didn't make much of a difference, but she would like to know.

First things first: Draco took her on a tour of more reception rooms than you could shake a wand at, and Hermione walked under the watchful eyes of a seemingly endless array of portraits. Judging from his ancestors, Draco's arrogance had been bred into him.

"What's this, then?" Hermione peered into a completely different kind of room – it had benches rather than fussy period furniture, and unlike the expanse of salons every colour of the rainbow it was clearly in frequent use.

"That's the Potions lab." Draco lifted the lid of a cauldron and peered into it, sniffing at the purple vapours rising from whatever he was brewing.

"You have a Potions lab?"

"Clearly."

"Is that standard pure-blood fare, or just a Malfoy thing?"

Draco moved over to a store cupboard, his hand hovering over the line of jars before selecting one. "I don't know – it's not exactly somewhere you bring your guests, is it?"

During her sejour in the Muggle world Hermione had rented a tiny studio. She hadn't exactly had a choice of where to entertain her guests – she had considered herself a good hostess the times she'd remembered to take her knickers off the radiators beforehand.

"I suppose." A selection of cauldrons were lined up at the wall. Hermione's hand twitched.

"You can use it too, if you like. It's not like it's my personal lab, or anything," Draco said with his back turned.

"Thank you," she said eventually, all other options exhausted.

* * *

 **As usual, this story is completed and I'll be posting weekly updates.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **-oOo-**

"Astoria says four British wizards were extradited for trying to flee from the marriage law last week – not a word about it in the _Prophet_." Draco put his letter to the side while spreading a liberal amount of marmalade on his toast.

"Could you pass that jar to me afterwards? If there's any left, that is." Previously, Hermione had contented herself with butter. That had been before she had tried the Malfoy preserves. Wealth had its advantages.

"Mmhmm." Draco shoved a whole slice of bread into his mouth, so he could get started on the second one before giving up the marmalade.

"Wait a second!" Hermione had lived at the manor for months, but she hadn't even noticed until now. "Are you putting _butter_ on your toast first?"

"You've got to have butter. Obviously." At least Draco hid the evidence by the half-inch thick layer of marmalade on top.

" _Obviously_ you get to pick one thing. That's just greedy." Hermione primly scraped her toast so the marmalade was spread evenly. And thinly.

"Tell me, Hermione – what was it like growing up poor? Did you only get one present at Christmas, too?" By mutual recognition they had stopped using surnames as a form of address. Pretending that recent history hadn't happened made the fact that they were actually having a conversation in the first place ridiculous, and addressing everyone in the room as 'Malfoy' made it sound like they were mad.

Perhaps they were.

Hermione still frequently woke up wondering if the whole thing had been a nightmare, but the arrival of the requisite house-elf bearing a cup of tea dissolved any doubts.

The world had gone mad and brought all of them with it to the other side, where Malfoys and Grangers holed up in the same house did not cause any comment, as people were too busy squealing over the latest baby (they all looked the same to Hermione) or whispering about who had been sent to Azkaban this week.

Hermione wanted to stand up and scream for people to take notice.

The Ministry had turned more totalitarian than Voldemort had dreamt of (for half- and pure-bloods, at least) and _still_ they didn't do anything. The majority were happy to see the steady dwindling unmarried minority bossed around until no single witches or wizards remained, as long as it didn't affect them.

Something warm splattered Hermione's hand, but she didn't pay it any attention. The wonderful idea that had occurred to her was unfolding its wings like an exquisite butterfly, full of promise.

"Hermione?"

If she ignored it, surely it would go away.

"Hermione, are you in there?"

She opened her eyes to a face full of Draco, leaning so close to her that their foreheads almost clashed. "What?"

"Fantastic, you're still in possession of your senses. Such as they were." Draco prattled on, but Hermione ignored him.

She had an outline of the plan, the details could be filled in later. Shoving her cold cup of tea aside, she abandoned the half-finished slice of toast on her silver plate. There was work to be done, and, unlike Ron, Hermione refused to besmirch books with food.

Ron...

She pursed her lips thinking about Ron and Hannah, by all accounts living together happily but due to circumstance, rather than the irresistible force that had pulled Ginny and Harry together. It was true that the Ministry already had interfered with the natural course of events – could she really justify continuing along the same lines?

When the Ministry for Magic thought it was a good idea to force Hermione Granger to marry Lucius Malfoy, anything could be justified. If they didn't like the outcome, they shouldn't have started this nonsense in the first place.

"Merlin. When you look like that I almost think you could have been in Slytherin." Draco, never content to remain silent for long, recalled her to the present. Apparently he had followed her all the way from the breakfast parlour. Like a puppy, desperate to be part of the action (such as it was).

Hermione gave him a long, searching glance, before she pulled him into the Grey Drawing Room with her, warded the door and told him what she was going to do.

* * *

"Fuck me sideways – that's some plan!"

Hermione watched in fascination as Draco realised what he had said – two red spots bloomed temporarily on his cheeks before he recovered:

"I would extend honorary Slytherinship to you, only I might have to kill you afterwards. How do you plan on achieving this, by the way?"

That was the tricky part. "I was hoping your father could help."

Draco pursed his lips. "While he is as keen as the next man would be to get rid of you – no offence meant – he's rather… He's not himself at the moment."

That was one way of putting it.

"Yes, I've noticed that. Don't you think an opportunity to sock it to the Ministry might cheer him up a bit?"

* * *

The following day was a Saturday, so Hermione knew she would find Draco in the Potions lab. He liked keeping on top of his Polyjuice brewing.

"How are the lacewings looking?" She peered into the cauldron.

"Fine. The Icelandic variety seems to give better results, but it's too early to judge."

"If only the average wizard could afford Icelandic imports." Hermione sighed.

Draco jotted something down in his notebook before closing the cauldron lid. "You're a Malfoy now, you know. You're not exactly poor."

"I'm glad you said that. As it happens, I need twenty-thousand Galleons by Friday."

Draco dropped a vial with something dark and sticky, promptly splattering it all over his boots. "Bloody hell, Granger!"

"Do you want to get me off the family tree, or what?"

"Dare I ask what you're going to use the money for, or is it one of those things I had better remain ignorant of?"

Hermione cleaned a rogue spot from the hem of his robes, as Draco put the shine back on his dragon hide boots. "Considering that you're still on parole, I think blissful ignorance is best. I am counting on your help for the next step, however."

"Aren't I lucky," Draco mumbled, but he didn't look too put out. That was probably because she hadn't told him what the next step was yet.

* * *

"Absolutely not!" Draco was standing in front of his precious vat of Polyjuice as if it were his first-born.

"I only need a little." Hermione held up her flask, tilting it to show how very tiny it was.

"I had the lacewings imported specially - it took four months to get the trading permit!"

"And now you can have it tested free of charge, on a willing subject. You can even take notes." She advanced towards the potion, not about to spend another month brewing before she could get to stage two of her plan, and Draco reluctantly moved out of her way.

Having filled her flask to the brim, she let three hairs fall into it before she screwed up her courage and brought it to her mouth. Hopefully the Icelandic lacewings had improved the taste.

"Wait!" Draco looked uncharacteristically concerned. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm about to drink this here, so you can observe the effects of your precious potion," Hermione explained patiently. "Then, I will take myself off to do my actual business, which does not involve hanging around in labs."

"You don't say. What does it involve, then?"

"I thought we had agreed you didn't need to know." She lowered the flask a little. The Polyjuice looked even less appetising than usual – every second spend arguing put off the inevitable a little longer.

There was a stubborn cast to Draco's chin. "You're not going without backup."

"OK, OK." He was almost endearing in his concern. Almost. "I'm meeting Harry and Ron on the way."

"Weasley and Potter have no idea what you're up to, so no, you're not. This is basic stuff: no Slytherin worth their salt would embark on as much as a kitchen raid without someone having their back."

"Severus Snape didn't have any backup," Hermione pointed out.

"Exactly. That's why you watched him die in the Shrieking Shack. Where are we off to?"

"Oh, very well." Hermione put her flask down and rummaged in her bag for extra hair. "Here. Just be quiet and follow my lead, will you?"

* * *

They were giggling like schoolchildren when they came back, giddy with the rush of plotting and Polyjuice.

"I thought Farley was about to call in the Aurors when he got the tea in!"

"Told you." Hermione didn't think she could be blamed for being smug – her plan had gone off without a hitch. There was no need to point out that was in no small part due to Draco, who had unknown skills of impersonating Ministry officials.

"Imperio, though – I didn't think you'd stoop to that." Draco looked uncertain for a moment.

"Desperate times, desperate measures. Hopefully Farley will believe it was all his own idea, so I won't need to bring my wand out again."

Draco mumbled something about the Wizarding world being lucky she had been Muggle-born, but he declined to elaborate when asked.

* * *

It took a few days of anxious anticipation, but finally their patience was rewarded.

 _Ministry Expands Marriage Law!_ the _Prophet_ trumpeted. _Controversial Bid To Erase Concept Of Blood Purity Launched By Assistant Minister_

Hermione smiled. "Let's see what they make of this."

"The Minister is all for it, by all accounts." Draco was scanning his paper while Hermione was content to admire the front page.

"Good. Then we'll crack up the pressure a little bit. Soon."

* * *

"What do you mean, you can't cast a Morsmordre?" Hermione hissed, glaring daggers at Draco who had chosen the moment they were crouching in the bushes outside Assistant Minister Farley's holiday home in Wales to reveal this crucial piece of information.

"I was a bit busy with other things during my first year as a Death Eater!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione whispered in exasperation. "Do you realise what this means?"

Draco looked downcast. "I think you should ask him," he tried.

"I think not! It's bad enough that I will have to cast the bloody thing, I'm not asking your father for help!"

"He's your husband, not mine."

"You will still be related to him after this debacle, so it's unlikely he will dob you in. Me, on the other hand... " The moon was on the wane and she could barely see him, but Hermione sensed she had got him. "Come on, you can Apparate home in a jiffy and then we can get this over and done with."

"In a jiffy?" There was a smile in Draco's voice.

"Technical term," Hermione explained with as much dignity as she could muster. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all, despite his lack of knowledge of critical spells.

* * *

The _Prophet_ the following day was everything Hermione could have wished for. The headline font was so big there wasn't room for anything other than a photo of the Assistant Minister's empty holiday home with the Dark Mark hovering above it, accompanied by the headline:

 _RETURN OF THE DEATH EATERS? MINISTRY FLUMMOXED_

The latter part was not a surprise – they would have found out rather sooner if the Auror Office had managed to track the culprits. Hermione would have had some explaining to do, and they would have been lucky if she had managed to keep them out of Azkaban.

Not being a complete idiot, Hermione had made sure they could not be found out.

Her insight into Auror techniques was probably rather better than the average Dark Witch's. Draco was also a font of knowledge on how not to be caught by the Ministry, experience honed by generations of Malfoys. Together they were rather formidable, which was lucky; pulling Hermione's plan off was not going to be a mean feat.

The whole thing had taken on a life of itself, with new players popping out of the woodwork every day.

From the safety of Malfoy Manor, Draco and Hermione watched the pressure being cranked up entirely without their involvement. Recriminations flew between different Ministry department, with concerned citizens getting increasingly irate over what they regarded as excessive security measures or, from the other side, a lack of response from the Ministry.

The instructions Farley was under meant that he was likely to suggest an expansion to the marriage law as the solution to any significant issue, but it was due to the man's own political flair that he also convinced his fellow politicians it was the best solution to their current troubles. It probably helped that it was free and did not require any change inside the Ministry for Magic, which had proven harder to achieve than using forcibly extracted unicorn blood without nasty side effects.

It didn't even stop there – if 'Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells' and 'Uncertain in Uddingston' were representative of the wizarding population as a whole, the madness was spreading.

"How is this possible?" Hermione watched Draco finish the letter page in his copy of the _Prophet_ (they had resorted to double subscriptions, patience not being a defining virtue in either of them). "How can they agree with this?"

"At a guess, our friend in Tunbridge Wells is about a hundred-and-seventy, and thus outside the scope of your proposed new legislation."

"But still – how can you possibly think it's a good idea to force people to divorce their current partners and marry one the Ministry has assigned to them?"

"It was your idea," Draco pointed out.

"Yes," Hermione almost wailed. "I meant to make people realise how ridiculous the marriage law is! I didn't expect them to start queuing up for more."

"Again, I think demography is your answer. The age of the average voter falls above the cut-off for the marriage law. For all I know, they think it's an excellent way to keep the youngsters in line and get rid of blood prejudice while they're at it."

"A little late, considering they lived through two wars caused by it." Hermione poured out more tea with unwonted vehemence.

"Maybe sense has finally prevailed, then?"

"Sense?" Suddenly, Hermione doubted she knew him at all. "Don't tell me you're helping me because you actually think this is a good idea?"

Draco blushed, to her utter astonishment.

"I – er – no!" he blurted out. "I mean, making people get married against their will is a recipe for disaster. I do think that our tendency of fighting the same war all over again every bloody generation will ultimately be the end of us, but I'm quite confident there are better ways to stop it. That you will find better ways to stop it." By the end he was deliberately looking her in the eyes, and it was Hermione's turn to blush.

Mutual embarrassment prevented further conversation just then. Fortunately, it had evaporated by the time Harry's owl arrived.

"I got a letter from Harry –" Hermione burst in on Draco slicing rat spleens to the exact thickness prescribed by Libatius Borage (she must remember to share Snape's slight variation later), and she slowed down to allow him to finish.

"I got one from Pansy," Draco said as he wiped his fingers clean.

They looked at each other.

"I guess this is it, then." He cleaned the purple stains from the workbench with a quick charm after levitating the spleens into a jar. Severus Snape would be rolling in his grave. "What shall I tell her?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **-oOo-**

Finding a meeting place that was acceptable to everyone was almost as difficult as getting to a point where such a gathering was possible in the first place. Eventually, Hermione managed to persuade Headmistress McGonagall to let them use Hogwarts, which ought to be neutral ground for everyone.

It wasn't until she Apparated there on the day of the meeting that it occurred to Hermione that a former battlefield perhaps wasn't the best place to come to an understanding, but then it was too late. They would just have to put up with it.

"Everyone has to leave their wand at the door. The Hogwarts house-elves will look after them," she told a mutinous Freya Rowle.

"And those who can use wandless magic? Are we supposed to let them have their way with the rest of us?" Rowle had a rather penetrating voice, causing several people walking through the doors at the same time to slow down so they could hear the rest of the conversation.

"I can assure you the spell Hermione has put on us makes the consequences very unpleasant." Harry handed over his wand without complaining, earning a thankful glance from Hermione.

* * *

"Order!"

Miraculously, the Great Hall fell quiet. There was still whispered conversations everywhere, and someone at the back was still in full flow telling an anecdote about flying to Cornwall. Faced with Augusta Longbottom's stony glare the story was cut short mid-sentence.

It had not been easy to find someone to chair the meeting.

That was an understatement – as soon as Hermione and Draco had whipped up enough support in their respective networks for Doing Something, even if it would involve meeting people who had been on the wrong side of the last war, the extent of the difficulties they would face getting them to talk to each other without hexes flying in the air became apparent.

Happily, Draco had recalled being terrified of Mrs Longbottom at an otherwise long-forgotten family gathering, and they had forged ahead.

"Everyone who does not know why they' are here may now excuse themselves on account of being too dim to leave home unaccompanied." Mrs Longbottom's voice echoed in every corner of the hall, and Hermione was suddenly grateful the old witch looked nothing like Voldemort.

"You may whinge as much as you like, but unless you can overcome your differences and forge a joint approach you may as well go home and wait for your letter from the Ministry. Just like when you were eleven, only with a nasty twist. What are you going to do about it?"

A dozen voices piped up, only to be silenced abruptly.

"Miss Granger's hand was up first, I believe. Everyone will get their turn – I have Strengthening Solution at the back, should anyone start flagging before the end of the night." The curl of her lip suggested she regarded anyone who needed it as a weakling.

"Thank you." Hermione stood up, butterflies in her stomach as she let her eye wander across the room. Hagrid stood out, twice as large as anyone else, and she saw the pale blond hair of her dear husband next to Drusilla Nott. There was a smattering of friendly faces from the DA, interspersed with strangers and known quantities she could not necessarily count on for a friendly hearing.

Nothing worthwhile had ever been easy; she squared her shoulders and got on with it. "I'm glad to see so many of you share my concerns about the marriage law. While it would have been welcome at an earlier stage, it is by no means a lost cause. Let me outline a few possible scenarios for you...

* * *

"A putsch," Harry said disapprovingly, as Hermione Apparated in his kitchen afterwards.

"Not a word I expected to hear from you." She tried for a bit of lightness, but didn't get anywhere.

"I don't like it, Hermione. There's more to this than meets the eye, I can feel it!"

Damn Harry and his occasional bouts of being perceptive. Couldn't he have had them as a teenager, when they would actually have been useful?

"I think what meets the eye is bad enough. Harry, surely you agree we have to stop this?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned, before shaking his head vigorously. It seemed to work – his face seemed to blur into focus, and his normal sharp look was back. "Of course we have to stop. It's only – We should have done something long ago. Something that worked. I realise it must be like a slap in the face at this stage, but I'm sorry. "

The temptation to tell him everything almost overpowered her, but a moment's reflection sufficed to squash it. They would all be better for it, Hermione reminded herself. Not only Harry and Ginny, but their children, and their children's children.

Surely a little deception was a small price to pay?

"The important thing is what we do know," she said briskly, and Harry nodded.

* * *

It took four more mass meetings, ten working groups, two of Draco's precious vats of Polyjuice, too many arguments to count and a very large amount of Galleons to swing public opinion. Reluctantly, the Minister was persuaded she ought to spend more time with her Crups, and the field was open for a new Minister with fresh ideas to step up.

Like Seraphina Selwyn, who had a mind so open the wind didn't bother taking the long way around, blowing straight through between her ears instead.

"Not long to go now," Draco said as he laid the final touches to Selwyn's election manifesto.

"Hmm." Hermione was busy drafting the repeal of all marriage laws other than the ones relating to bestiality, as well as the addendum making it high treason to even propose another one. If she could get this right, the potential for future fuckwittery in the wizarding world would at least be restricted to public life.

"Are you coming to the victory party?" The tips of Draco's ears were suspiciously pink.

"What party?"

"It'll be at the Leaky Cauldron – in the secret function room, of course. Even Mrs Longbottom is coming. I'd better sort out some elf-made wine for her, or there will be complaints..."

"You don't think it's slightly premature?"

"It will," Draco said with satisfaction, "be the party of the decade."

* * *

He was right, of course – once it sank in that the marriage law was history, the atmosphere became giddy with relief. Draco had spared no expense behind the bar; even Mrs Longbottom was showing signs of thawing after three tiny glasses of elf-made wine.

Hermione caught up with Draco after he had peeled an effusive Angelina Johnston off his robes, directing her towards Blaise Zabini and his hoard of champagne bottles.

"Look at that for interhouse cooperation." Hermione was leaning against the wall, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of having the edges of the world softened just a little by a few glasses of the excellent champagne.

"I might need a bit more practise," Draco told his very expensive shoes.

"What?"

"It's been very quiet in the lab since you moved out. The house-elves keep asking when you're coming back, too," he added on belatedly, but the faint pink glow to his cheeks told another story. One Hermione suddenly was very eager to hear.

"I see. I definitely have to come back for a visit then."

"Exactly." Draco had found a wineglass somewhere. He took a large sip, smiling at nothing in particular (unless you counted Mrs Longbottom dancing a jig with Hagrid).

Hermione found that she was smiling, too. "Besides, there's the rest of my masterplan. Getting rid of the marriage law was just the start – it would be handy to have a Slytherin around."

"Indeed." Draco stood so close the tiny hairs at the back of his hand were touching hers. They stayed there, comfortable in companionable silence as the party raged around them. Not even a filthy stare from Lucius made Draco step away.

He stayed there, as if they belonged together. Eventually, he slipped his fingers around Hermione's hand – very carefully, as if she were made of glass.

Well, bollocks to that. Before she lost her nerve, Hermione swung her arms around Draco and kissed him as if her life depended on it. He emerged with pink cheeks, looking happier than she ever had seen him.

"Really, Granger?"

"Really, Malfoy. Now that I can call you that again."

He swallowed whatever he had been about to say before kissing her again. Not even Ron, loudly clapping his hands and hollering something, could make them break apart.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **I wanted to write a marriage law story where Hermione's reaction to the Ministry trying to force her into marriage is as true to her character as possible. You will have to tell me whether it worked or not...  
**


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